Holding on to Air -rewrite-
by Canadian Erect Mountie
Summary: After the shock of losing Sirius, Harry becomes depressed. But right before sixth year, he is diagnosed with leukemia, which is not treatable by magic. Can he and his friends find the courage and strength to keep moving forward? And also, Voldemort took Harry's blood in fourth year- about the time the cancer began to develop. Drarry and RWXHG and GWXDean, self-harm involved!
1. First Signs

**A/N: That's right, I is re-uploading this story! After the last review on it was a terrible flame claiming to be constructive criticism hurt me, I took down the story for, like, four months. But now I've edited it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, obviously, because JKR was too soft to actually have him die. :(**

Number four, Privet Drive, was actually quite nice in the evening. When you weren't inside with your abusive aunt, uncle, and pig of a cousin. This was one of the blunt thoughts currently riding through Harry Potter's head on an early evening in early July. Many things always went through his mind, and he was forcing himself not to think of the one person that caused him such pain.

Sirius.

He thought about Ron and Hermione, wherever they were. He missed them terribly, andit was worse because they haven't written to him all summer. He didn't know quite what to feel about this. Part of him wanted to be alone, not wanting any sympathy from them, because none of them lost what h lost. The other part was anxiously awaiting some news from them. Because he desperately wanted to tell them how His absence was tearing a hole through his chest, how he desperately wanted to join Him, but was afraid... afraid of what else would happen to them without he, Harry.

Sirius.

He only had a knife to stop the nightmares. He no longer slept at night; the thought made him pale at the memory of the nightmares, the small whispers in his head that told him how it was his fault Cedric had died, how it was his fault Sirius had been murdered...

So he did not sleep. He was sweating terribly in the lingering heat of the day. He knew he would be more comfortable without the long-sleeved shirt on, but he would not show anyone the cuts or the scars. Ironic that he give himself injuries when his mind was already branded beyond measure. But when they healed and became faded, he would not sweat. He would cut somewhere they wouldn't see. But for now, he suffered.

It felt good, in a way, that he suffer the heat, because it was a small price to pay for all the suffering he caused others... Hermione, always worrying about him, putting himself before her... Ron, always trying to help, always there... the Order, all of them dedicated to him, Harry, who deserved none of it.

Sirius. He missed him terribly, he knew Sirius would know exactly how he felt, but he wouldn't have felt this way if Sirius hadn't died... if Harry had just listened to Hermione and waited for someone to go to the Department of Mysteries and save Sirius, who never needed saving...

These thoughts continued to haunt Harry Potter as he got up and walked wearily back to the door of number four, Privet Drive, and he glanced back at Magnolia Crescent, reminded of last year when those bloody dementors were sent by Umbridge to do him away. His whole body ached, and he assumed it was from lack of sleep and sitting on a brick wall for several hours, the same wall where he had first seen Sirius and when the Knight Bus had almost run him over.

As he approached the door, a horrible wave of dizziness suddenly swept over him and he staggered into the perfectly trimmed hedge. It continued to sweep until he keeled over, quite unconscious.

* * *

Two hours later, Aunt Petunia found Harry like that, sprawled out over the driveway with a clump of bush in his hand, passed out. She walked over to him. "Oi! You, Potter, wake up!" she barked. Harry did not stir. As Petunia crouched down irritably next to the fainted boy she noticed how he looked almost as if he was in pain. "Harry! Come on then, wake up..." she said, shaking his shoulder slightly. His eyes snapped open and he yelped in pain at the slight pressure his aunt had exerted on his shoulder.

She drew back, surprised by his exclamation. "Are you alright? How long have you been there?" she asked. Harry blinked as he took in his surroundings, sitting up and straightening his glasses. "What time is it?" he asked, trying to get to his feet and was surprised as she pushed him back down.

She eyed him worriedly, sort of creeping Harry out. Since when did Petunia Dursley care about him? She checked her delicate golden watch. "It's seven fifteen." Harry rubbed his eyes.

"Well, I started back here at around five. So I passed out for two hours." he said, surprised that he hadn't had any nightmares. She narrowed her beady eyes. "Come on, then. You need some sleep. And in your bed this time, please." she ordered, helping him to his feet. He was so groggy, the fact that she was helping him at all didn't really register until the next morning.

He awoke, perfectly refreshed and nightmareless. The sun wasn't out that day; it was drizzling and the sky looked ominous. He sighed as he got dressed, noticing for the first time Hedwig was watching him. When she saw he was looking at her she stuck out her leg and hooted indignantly, as if to reprimand him for not noticing her earlier. "Thanks, Hedwig." he murmured, untying the string and stroking her soft feathers a few times. She closed her eyes lazily, enjoying the sensation.

He opened the letter from Hermione.

_Dear Harry,_

_How is your summer going so far? I'm home right now and the weather is dreadfully hot, but the news says we're getting rain soon. Suprise. Anyway, Ron's mum invited us to stay for the remainder of the summer. She says you might need a little more time where you are because neither Ron nor I have heard from you all summer. Please reply promptly, we miss you, Harry. By the way, when you get to that question on your Herbology homework about Devil's Snare, don't you dare put anything about "relaxation." Really, Ronald answered it with something about that Broderick Bode fellow who got caught by it last Christmas._

_With love,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Mrs. Weasley says they're coming to get you in about a week._

Harry sighed. His scars would heal properly in about that time; it was a good thing, really, that he hadn't needed to use the knife last night. Blessed sleep.

He replied,

_Hermione-_

_Summer's going wonderfully. My aunt and uncle are perfect. I'll be here when the Weasleys come._

_-Harry_

He knew his uncle would want to read the note to make sure he wasn't saying anything to Sirius about them. Harry hadn't told them about Sirius yet, because they wouldn't care and he didn't truly want to relive that night with them.

He trudged downstairs and handed the note to Uncle Vernon. "My friend's parents are coming to get me next week. Just thought you should know." he said blandly as Uncle Vernon read over the short letter. "Alright then. Make some breakfast now, would you?" he demanded. Harry did so. As he approached the kitchen the wave of dizziness crashed upon him again like a train wreck.

As he collapsed again, the last thing he heard was, "Vernon! Call an ambulance, that's twice now he's-!" before everything went black.


	2. Broken

**A/N: I'm evil.**

** Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Unfortunately. *sigh***

He wasn't entirely unconscious. He heard the sirens, his aunt crying-CRYING!-and the feeble attempts of his uncle to wake him. But he wasn't asleep. He couldn't move; he felt groggy, and heavy, especially his eyelids. He felt himself lifted onto a stretcher, carried out the door, and into the back of the ambulance. Someone shoved a needle into his arm and he could have winced. It wasn't enough to break him of his stupor, but painful nonetheless.

His shirt was ripped off of him and the ambulance raced to the hospital, ten miles away. He must have been like that for about twenty minutes and the world was becoming steadily darker. He should have said something earlier; he had been hurting even before Sirius died. Would he die?

It didn't look good as someone shouted, "CLEAR!" and Harry knew no more.

* * *

The first thing he was conscious of was the pain in his hip. He knew of the pain even before he was fully awake. He blinked. Everything was fuzzy and white. Utterly bemused, Harry wondered how he got back to the Hogwarts hospital wing. Then he realized he was in a Muggle hospital. An irritating beeping noise sounded nearby. He reached out automatically for his glasses but his wrist was poked, hard, and he couldn't move it any further. He looked down and saw what looked like a needle sticking into his wrist.

"Ugh." he moaned, flopping down on his pillows. A little red button was on the wall and he could distinctly make out the words CALL NURSE below it. He pushed it. A few minutes later a rather plump nurse bustled in and handed him his glasses. "Oh! Good afternoon Mr. Potter." she said.

He saw his uncle and aunt had gotten him a private room. "Wuzzgoinon?" he mumbled. His mouth was bone dry, he noticed, yawning. She smiled and handed him a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully.

"You fainted. Your aunt told us that it wasn't the first time, so we ran a blood test." she said. Harry paled. "And what were the results?" he asked, dreading the answer. Thankfully, though-"They haven't come in yet."

Harry grimaced as his hip flared up. "Why does my hip hurt so badly?"

"You fell on it and almost dislocated your thighbone." said a doctor as he walked in. "Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. How are you feeling?" he asked politely.

"Well, my hip hurts, my head feels like it has been stampeded and I hate IV's." he grumbled. The doctor smiled. "Okay, good, considering we had to resuscitate you."

"Oh." was all Harry said, remembering. Another nurse walked in, a tall black guy, and he showed a clipboard to the doctor and whispered something in his ear. The doctor went very pale. "That cannot be...it is..." He glanced at Harry in concern. "I need to talk to your aunt and uncle. Excuse us." he said to Harry as he and the two nurses left the room.

Ten minutes passed and he heard an awful wail from the waiting room. He sat up straight in alarm, not registering the ache in his hip. "Now, ma'am, calm down, please-"

"DON'T YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, SIR! MY NEPHEW- I NEED TO SEE HIM!"

Nothing could have shocked Harry more than hearing Aunt Petunia screech in such panic. She stormed into his room and flung herself onto him, sobbing hysterically. He was wrong; this _was_ more shocking. "Ummm... Aunt Petunia, what's wrong, exactly?" he asked uncomfortably, extracting her from himself.

"Oh -Harry- your blood test results came in!" she wailed, plonking down into a chair and crying some more. The doctor came back in with Uncle Vernon and Dudley, who was pointedly not looking at him. "I am Dr. Payne. Mr. Potter, we..erm.. tested your blood sample and...

"I'm afraid you have leukemia."

* * *

The first chemo treatment was over and Harry wondered when his hair would start falling out. It was a month after he was diagnosed with leukemia. He bruised easily, he was exhausted all the time, and it had spread. Badly. Dr. Payne thought he might have had for over a year before it began to seriously develop, and was continuing at an alarming rate.

Only now he was able to go to the Weasleys, because he had to reschedule, claiming he wasn't "emotionally ready" yet. They knew it was a lie, but the shakiness of his handwriting and a few tear marks on the parchment kept them away. They were coming tonight.

The experts told him they would do another blood test right before school started and tell him if the first few chemo treatments seemed to be working at all. If not, then he had less time to live than they could anticipate.

No one knew yet. There was still the hope the chemo would work to some extent, but magic had no use whatsoever on the cancer. Hermione had said so when he asked her; he gave her the excuse that it would help him with an assessment he was taking for Madame Pomfrey. Hermione hadn't even hesitated in her smart, blunt reply. It all depended on the chemo.

It was 4:45. They would be there in fifteen minutes. Aunt Petunia treated him better than Dudley lately, always fussing around him, and she was very reluctant to have him go to the Weasleys. She sat on the couch opposite him.

"Now you be careful, and take your meds, and get to bed on time..." she said anxiously, as Dudley carried his trunk downstairs. Harry could have done so himself, and told Aunt Petunia this, but she would not hear of it. "It won't kill him..." she trailed off, realizing what she said and turned away, red as a tomato.

They arrived by Ministry car this time, rather than knock out the electric fireplace again. "Alright, Harry?" asked Mr. Weasley as they drove off. He was most surprised that the horsey woman had been so worried-looking as they had pulled away. Harry nodded wearily. "Just tired." he said as they pulled into the Burrow. The ride had been quick. He staggered out of the car, yawning.

Someone slammed into him in with such force he fell backwards, crying out in pain. "Oh! Harry, we missed you!" said Hermione, getting off of him and beaming. She suddenly looked anxious. "Harry?" she asked uncertainly. His face was still contorted in pain, but he masked it quickly. She helped him to his feet. "It's great to see you to." he said truthfully. The truth. He couldn't tell them yet.

As he got settled in his and Ron's room Hedwig appeared by his window, tapping it with her beak. "Hello, Hedwig." he said, opening the window. She stuck out her leg. As soon as he dislocated it she fluttered off again.

He read it through. Once. Twice. He fell onto the bed, weak-kneed, as the letter floated out of his hand and onto the floor.

_Dear Harry,_

_Dr. Payne said that your results came back already. The chemo has been ineffective._

_Aunt Petunia_

That was all it said. It was all it needed to say.


	3. Found out

**A/N: I'm nice, giving you guys two chapters in one night. I feel like I have no life :p And also, 80% this story is all typed out, so don't worry about me saying not updated daily. There's about 20 chapters so far and I have more to go. Each one ranges from 1000-2000 words long.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

He burned the note. Reading it multiple times wouldn't make it any less true. He would not let them know. True, Ron was snoring away besides him and had not yet seen Harry's balding head. He wore a beanie for now. He lay down to bed, exhausted, but he did not sleep. The nightmares had returned with fresh relish and horror, so he had slept last night and faced the consequences.

He pulled out the knife. His scars had long since faded-at least the original ones visible on his wrists. He now merely needed to press the blade to a premade cut on his bicep that never stopped bleeding because of the cancer. Cancer. The Big C. The cause of his demise, according to Dr. Payne. Dr. Payne. What an ironic name. He might as well have been called Dr. I'm-sorry-you-are-in-pain-but-bear-it-anyways-if-it-may-heal-you.

He gingerly removed the enchanted arm wrap that Vanished the blood stem as it was released into it, and pressed the blade to the wound. The pain swept over him much like his dizzy spells. The night dragged on and he sat there in the lonely darkness, not daring to sleep.

* * *

"Harry? Wake up." said Ron, shaking his friend's shoulder. Harry slept and Ron shrugged. Harry looked like he needed some sleep anyways. As he straightened up Ron noticed something. A dark pool had formed and was still growing around Harry's bicep, something that looked horribly like-

"Blood." he whispered. "Harry! Harry wake up, mate!" Ron said urgently, shaking Harry's shoulder with even more vigor. His friend blinked and moaned, reaching for his glasses. "What?" he mumbled, placing the glasses on his face and looking up at Ron's terrified face.

'Oh shit!' he thought. 'I fell asleep!' "Sorry, Ron, did I wake you? It was just a nightmare." he said. Ron stared at Harry in disbelief and held out the latter's arm gently.

"Mate, you almost bled to death! How the hell did this happen?" he demanded, pulling Harry out if bed and to the door.

"Owww-Ron, please, no." Harry whispered. The sudden, pleading tone of his voice made Ron pause as he reached for the doorknob. Harry sat back on the bed, looking more tired and forlorn than ever. "Sit." he told his friend. A request that Ron obliged.

Harry took a deep breath. "Ron, over the summer I was diagnosed and treated with a terminal disease. A Muggle disease called leukemia. It makes me bleed badly, and the treatment made me lose my hair." Harry pulled off his hat to reveal the baldness. Ron just listened.

"Please do not tell anyone. They can't do anything, and the sympathy..." Harry swallowed back the tears. "I don't want them to know or worry yet." Ron noticed this "yet" through his disbelief.

"How long?" he whispered.

"Until Easter at the best." Harry replied. Ron nodded slowly and left the room as Harry whispered, "Please."

Of course Ron had to tell. He would not honor Harry's wishes if his friend's life depended on it. Which it might. He looked at Hermione, who looked back at him, confused. Did he really want to tell her this? Harry had looked so pleading, but… No. It was his responsibility as a best friend to tell.

After he explained to everyone, he turned a nasty shade of red when a throat-clearing occurred behind him. A weak throat-clearing.

"Great." whispered Harry, hurt evident in his eyes. "Now you all know I'm a dead man." And he burst into an awful fit of coughing. No one said anything, though they all wanted to move to help him. They knew he wouldn't accept their help.

He removed his mouth and his sleeve was spotted with blood. "See?" he demanded, holding his arm out to a horrified Weasley family. "That's what it does to you. It sucks the life and blood out of you. Magic does nothing. Easter. Act normal until Easter, please. It's the least..." Harry stopped and began coughing awfully again, slumping to his knees. Dammit, where was his medication?

Hermione rushed to his side. "Harry! Are you okay? Harry, speak." she said desperately. He looked at her without truly seeing.

"Her...mione... it hurts...to breathe... medication in... my rucksack..." he wheezed, passing out. Hermione raced upstairs and wailed at the mess and the bloodstained sheets. Harry's bag lay open. She grabbed a clean syringe filled with an unknown substance and she hurtled downstairs to where Harry was moved to the couch, barely breathing as she forced up his sleeve and stabbed the syringe into the crook in his arm.

A moment of silence.

Harry took a large, scary, rattly breath, similar to that of a dementor, and lay still. He whispered, "Don't worry. The first time of many." and passed out indefinitely.


	4. Determination

**A/N: ;A; Thank you everyone for all your beautiful reviews! I love you all so much!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

They still didn't take him to the hospital, but invited Madame Pomfrey over to look at him. Ron explained the situation, with an occasional interjection from Hermione, who knew lots about the subject; her aunt died of leukemia three years ago. The frustration had built in her and resulted in Malfoy getting punched in the face.

Madame Pomfrey looked over Harry, claiming that he was going to be fine. "I worked with the Healers at St. Mungo's for a while and they transferred me to Muggle illnesses for a while." she explained. "So I do know how serious this is. Magic does not have any effect and those Muggles were right; he'll be lucky to make it to Easter. I think we should do as he asked and act normal, as if this hadn't happened."

And it was so.

* * *

He awoke. "Oh crap, I fell asleep." he thought. But that had been an awful dream that they had all discovered his secret. Oh well. He'd had worse. Much worse, so he was grateful. Ron snored on, and Harry got up. He reattached the Vanishing bandage to his cut, which had mercifully stopped bleeding. He felt rather dizzy as he injected his medications through the syringe; first in his elbow; second in his stomach. Then he swallowed the pills.

No one noticed. He went down to breakfast and ate his food without speaking. Everyone acted normal. Hermione frowned at him. "Feeling all right, Harry?" she inquired. He looked up, startled, for he was lost in thought and had hardly noticed what he was doing. "Oh... yeah, just a little tired." he said. It was mostly true. She scrutinized him once more before shrugging and turning to her own food. Harry suddenly lost his appetite and excused himself.

* * *

The rest of the time before school started was spent with hushed discussions that ceased as soon as Harry entered the room, and anxious glances in his direction. He didn't think much of it; after all, he didn't exactly look like a million Galleons. Whatever; he had shaved all his hair due to the embarrassing bald spots, explaining that he thought it easier without having to try and sort it out anymore. No one questioned it, which slightly unnerved him.

They visited Diagon Alley and the joke shop. Harry smiled for the first time in months as they approached the bright shop in the middle of a mostly deserted Diagon Alley. Mrs. Weasley moaned weakly at the sign on the door, which did not bear any of the wanted posters of missing Death Eaters, but instead said,

**WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO? YOU SHOULD BE INSTEAD BUYING U-NO-POO, THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!**

He did not supress the peals of laughter that rolled off of him and seemed to relieve the tense atmosphere. As they all chuckled Mrs. Weasley shook her head, staring at the sign. "Oh, no, they'll get in so much trouble..." she murmured.

They entered the shop and the girls immediately went to check out the love potions and Pygmy Puffs again. The Weasley family had come here earlier in the summer without Harry. He spotted Fred and George and walked over to them just as Fred was showing a few boys some sort of goo.

"Yes, boys, you are beholding the miraculous Weasley-go-goo. Eats anything and dissipates anything, guaranteed!" he said. The boys watched in awe as George gave the Goo a quill, which disappeared immediately. They applauded and bought a quart. The twins turned to Harry, grins fading ever so slightly at the sight of him.

His eyes were less brilliant green and were ringed by dark circles. His skin was a sickly pale color, and he was thinner and lankier than ever before, not to mention that he was bald. They hid their shock. "Why, hello, there oh great starter of all this!" cried George in surprise and delight.

Harry smiled faintly and reached for a small black rock like coal on a nearby shelf. "Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, freshly imported, and perfect for instant getaways." said Fred immediately.

They made small talk for a while. "By the way, Harry, congratulations." said George. Harry was confused. "For what?"

Their smiles faded truly his time. "Well, on making Quidditch Captain, of course! Have your OWL's come in yet? The letter should have come with it." Harry immediately smiled again; he had completely forgotten about the letters from the week before.

"Oh yeah, thanks guys. Yeah, I flunked Divination and History of Magic but everything else was all right." he said modestly.

"Oh come off it! He got an 'Outstanding' in Defense Against the Dark Arts!" said Ron suddenly from behind Harry. Fred grinned again. "Hermione rubbing off on you, then?" he asked mischievously. Harry frowned. "What are you..." Then he blushed furiously. "No way, we are so not like that." he said firmly, poorly concealing his amusement as their grins widened once more.

"Yeah, sure. See you around, we have customers." said George, and they walked away, showing the pimple cream to a delighted Eloise Midgen.

Anyway, they got the rest of their stuff and went back home, where Harry was plagued by more nightmares of the hospital, horror-struck and pitiful faces, and the laugh of a man before he fell over into nothingness...

* * *

"Harry, you look-you look terrible."

"Yeah, thanks Hermione." he said wearily. He had no strength to truly snap at her, and why would he, when every moment counted? They were on the Hogwarts Express and Harry had just denied Professor Slughorn's invitation for lunch, claiming he was feeling ill. The messenger girl didn't contest it, because that's exactly what he looked like.

He had a little over half a year to live. Wonderful.

But he had no way of knowing, of course, that they all knew this. Everyone.

Eight months to live.

* * *

"WHAT? Snape's teaching it?"

"But you said-"

"Slughorn was-"

"SHUT IT! Sorry, I thought... Dumbledore never said exactly what he was teaching." hissed Harry. They shut up. It was late evening after the feast and they were all absolutely shocked about Snape. Harry was too tired to do anything.

"Look, I'm tired. I'm going to bed." he said shortly.

"But, Harry-"

"Tomorrow." Right now all he needed was some sleep.

* * *

He woke up shivering, and with an awful pain in his stomach. He wrenched himself out of bed and just barely made it to the bathroom, relieving the contents of his stomach, heaving violently for what seemed like hours. Brilliant.

He needed his medicine; it wasn't quite dawn yet, but that eerie time of the morning where a gray, subtle silentness had crept over the grounds. But he wasn't going to make it through the day if he started out puking all over the place.

Sighing, Harry took his medications, thinking dully to himself, 'What's the point? It's not going to make me last here longer…'

Turning to go back to bed, he was faced with a bleary-looking Luna. She smiled dreamily at him. "Why, good morning, Harry. You don't look like you slept well at all." she noted. Harry winced. Right, how could he have forgotten? No one knew about him, and he looked different. And not in a good way.

"Not really, no." he admitted. She looked at him curiously.

"You should try some Sleeping Draught from Madam Pomfrey, then. No one makes potions better than Professor Snape."

Harry blinked. This summer had seemed surrealistic, filled with Muggle things and away from Hogwarts. He had forgotten why he wanted to come back in the first place. Smiling wryly he said, "Yeah, I know."

He prepared to face the day, determined not to show anything was wrong in the slightest.


	5. Fail

**A/N: I SO SORRY ;A; My internet was a douche and I couldn't update! My writing has differed since February 2012 when I first published this story on FanFiction, and this rewrite is merely edited with, also, some (major!) plot changes. For example, it was supposed to be HarryXGinny which, after reading copious amounts of slash, is no longer my OTP. Drarry forever, motherfudgers. There's also a reason Luna was in the common room that morning, even though she's a Ravenclaw.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, he goes to JKR. Sniff.**

**LE WARNING: Harry meets Draco this chapter. Also I prolly should have said this a while ago but this is NOT an AU. Regular, canon setting, with only Harry being kind of gay for Malfoy and vice versa, and Ginny's NOT going to be a bitch about it. I've read WAAAYYYY too many fics with her whoring herself around. Also I don't know if the first Quidditch match of 6th year was against Slytherin and I know Draco's not on the team anymore, but for the sake of my story it is.**

There had been Quidditch tryouts in the summer. Oliver Wood had chosen the new team, a special request from Dumbledore apparently. It made Harry wonder if the old man had known something. Today was the first match, and Harry didn't know if he should be nervous or what. Though he was Captain he had yet to practice with the newbs or even meet them. He was floating in some strange dreamworld through all of breakfast, classes, and everything else. Snape was unpleasant and snide as per usual, Hermione was lecturing him for reading out of the Half-Blood Prince's book, and Ron kept sneaking little waves to Lavender, who cooed about them with Parvati.

Hermione snapped her fingers in front of Harry's face. "Hey, you there?" she asked. He blinked himself back into the present.

"Humm? Yeah." he murmured distractedly. Hermione frowned.

"There's no need to be nervous, Harry. You've played a lot of Quidditch matches before, this one should be no different." she reasoned.

'Yeah,' thought Harry darkly, picking up his things. 'I have cancer and I'm captain to a bunch of kids I've hardly even met before.' Sighing, he dropped his things off in his dorm, heading downstairs to lunch with Ron. There were people wishing him good luck and others telling him he better win or else, and still others who told him he'd be an epic fail. He couldn't fail to notice, however, that Malfoy was silent throughout all of this.

Harry had been keeping some tabs on the mysterious blond since the beginning of the school year. He had seen Malfoy up to some suspicious activity when he visited Fred and George's shop that day at Diagon Alley, but had been unable to do anything about it, seeing as his invisibility cloak was still at the Burrow- plus he was too damn exhausted to go on some goose chase. Despite all this, Harry was going to watch Draco. There was something off about him this year and seeing as Harry had less then half that to live, he might as well try and figure out some great mystery before he died.

Lunch was over and, of course, Harry had barely been able to stomach anything, both due to nerves and his stupid leukemia. His body was too busy dying to eat.

The hairless boy looked up. It appeared Malfoy was having similar issues with food, instead choosing to fake laugh at bad jokes (courtesy of Pansy Parkinson) and Vanish it when he thought no one was looking. Unbeknownst to either Harry or Draco, Snape had noticed all of this- neither was eating, Harry was watching Draco, and Draco wasn't looking too great. Not that Snape could blame him, given the task he bore upon his young shoulders. There was no doubt in Snape's mind Draco wouldn't be able to go through with the Dark Lord's request, nor did he think the Dark Lord thought the opposite.

If Voldemort truly wanted Dumbledore dead he would do it himself, too great were the odds. Plus the snake-like man was quite childish about who he killed personally and who was left to his devoted followers. Snape himself had never been asked to do anything too gruesome, aside from observing perhaps. There was a strange understanding between Voldemort and himself, he liked to think, in which he was reserved for higher tasks than the torturing of Muggles. It was all a game that Voldemort preferred to watch rather than take part in, and what fun was it to watch such things alone?

Thus Snape observed alongside his master.

This particular task, however, was one of the Dark Lord's stranger plans, Snape had to admit. He dared not question it, of course. Not even Bellatrix dared, no matter her not-so-subtle lust for Voldemort. How strange he leave the fate of one of his oldest enemies in the hands of a mundane teenager who probably had issues keeping himself from death, much less causing that onto another. Especially not Dumbledore, who managed to create his own special connection to each and every one of his students, Draco included.

Snape tried to offer his guidance to his (temporary?) charge, but Draco would have none of it, acting precisely the way Voldemort knew he would, the manipulative bastard. Draco was determined to do this, to prove himself worthy. Snape thought that only he himself knew why Draco was insistent on this. The young Malfoy was trying to to prove himself not to the Dark Lord, or even his father- it was to himself, Draco. The Potions professor knew that Draco knew this somewhere, deep down, but the problem- how to get the boy to realize it?

That was the least of Snape's issues... well, no. The greatest of his issues happened to be somewhat intertwined into the lesser.

Potter.

Of course it would be he, Severus, and not Minerva that the old coot would ask to do this. Snape was well aware of Potter's condition and while he understood the necessity of keeping his knowledge secret from the boy, it didn't mean he thought it was a good idea. After all, Potter would feel morally inclined to tell them sometime, lest he just fall over dead sometime in the next eight months. He didn't have it in him to keep such a thing secret for too long, the guilt would tear him alive.

Shaking himself from these thoughts, Snape glanced down the table of teachers to see the old man conversing pleasantly with Hagrid about the upcoming match.

'Splendid,' he thought dryly, 'another thing I must service myself for, no matter how much my willingness may be.' And of course, maybe it wasn't entirely nonexistent, but it was pretty damn close.

* * *

"Now the score is tied at 50, and both seekers Potter and Malfoy appear to be quite worn out, if I do say so myself. They're circling about up there rather tiredly, like a pair of old carnivorous leafs."

McGonagall certainly seems to be rethinking allowing the Lovegood child to commentate, thought Snape. He himself found her commentary close to mildly amusing, entertaining even, but he couldn't become distracted by such small details. He had a game to watch.

Dumbledore's silly, naive plan was to get Malfoy and Potter to befriend each other, in hopes of combining... something. Snape had his thoughts, but didn't bother composing them. He didn't feel like giving himself a pounding headache trying to decipher Dumbledore's hidden meanings and ulterior motives. And if he said anything about that Dumbledore would deny it in his weird wise man ways.

Luna's words were true; Harry and Draco were putting about half of their effort into locating the snitch and the other half or so trying to stay awake. This did not go unnoticed by Snape, whose wand was at the ready under his robes in case one or both passed out. Earlier he had considered asking for the match to be suspended, but dismissed the thought quickly. He wouldn't want to appear as if he cared, now, would he?

The boys didn't even jab at each other; with true malice or not, not a single word was said to the other besides their last names.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

When the game began; sure, both did a few loops to warm up and such, but other than that it was lazily circling the stands, barely straining their eyes in search of a gold flash. After Luna's comment, however, they threw themselves back into their positions a bit, especially when giving withering looks by fellow teammates.

There it was. A gasp went through the crowd as Draco began to zoom across the pitch, right towards the Slytherin goal posts. Harry was right above him by ten feet or so, looking ahead for the elusive thing. He didn't see anything, but his vision was blurry. Maybe Malfoy was just bluffing him... no, his arm was outstretched and the snitch was on the run! The two seekers banked a sharp left (surprisingly well for a Nimbus 2001, thought Harry idly) in pursuit.

Bludgers came bursting out of nowhere and then they were dodging, weaving, as if in some sort of dance together. Something's wrong, Harry realized suddenly. It seemed like there were hundreds of Bludgers, though he just knew that there were only supposed to be two... why was the ground running up to him? Man, those blades of grass look pretty close to his face...

"Potter, you buffoon, stay awake. It's no fair winning if your opponent is disabled."

Malfoy, huh? He should trim the grass, that'd be nice.

His face was suddenly turned to the side and a pain blossomed on the opposite. He had been slapped. Unable to control his actions, Harry's body jerked uncontrollably. He recalled what was happening from some lame ass pamphlet he read awhile ago. He was going into some sort of shock in which his body had not received enough of some nutrients. The spasms were probably from his recent physical activity.

"Dammit, Potter, wake up! Everyone's staring, it's embarrassing."

The last thought Harry had was, 'so much for nothing conspicuous happening today...'


End file.
